Somewhat messy
by Archerea
Summary: How Rose - sort of - copes with the regeneration of the ninth Doctor. Set during the Christmas Special of series 2.


**Somewhat messy****  
****  
**Hi. This is my very first Doctor Who story. It takes place right after the ninth Doctor's regeneration, during _The Christmas Invasion_, and focuses on how troubled Rose is about the Doctor's change.

"_So where was I? Oh, that's right – Barcelona!"_  
She had clung to those words with fierce determination, like were they a lifeline, since the doctor had both departed and returned in the shape of this weird personage who had been feeling his teeth with his tongue in fascination from his first moment as.. Regenerated. What an alien word, but strangely fitting, considering. Totally, utterly regenerated. The teeth were just the tip of the iceberg, she could barely recognize him anymore – except for that tiny word which contained all her hope that maybe – just maybe – he was still her Doctor. _Barcelona._ Not the city, but the planet.

A small smile tugged inevitable at the corners of her lips as she remembered that last part, those last few words. He had sounded so wired, so immensely happy, and his deep voice had wrapped around her like a familiar embrace, comforted her in her darkest hour, soothed her soul and pushed away her worries, even if just for a little while. But this guy – she looked down at the sleeping form, so slight and helpless in her mother's bed – this guy was different. His voice was not as rich and serious as the _real_ Doctor, but more hyped-up and wacky and sort of elated, like had he gone and got himself merry on spirits.

She didn't know him, and there were so many things she did not understand. "Please" she whispered into his ear, knowing full well that he wouldn't answer, but trying none the less, "Doctor, it's me. Rose. Wake up, I need you to wake up." A soft sob forced its way out her mouth, "I hate this. I hate that you.." another tearful gasp which made her lips press together tightly to prevent her mother and Mickey from hearing, "That you pull a stunt like that. No warning. No explanation. No nothing. And you treated it like a _joke_" she hissed out the last few words with a hitch of resentment to her voice. "Did you think it would make me feel better?" Did he really believe that a light tone and a twisted smile would lessen the blow?

Barcelona the planet. Rose wondered what it was like. Which color? Modern technology or medieval feudal society? How were the people who inhabited it? _I wonder how they breathe? By gills? Holes behind the ears like the Nargas?_ She giggled, but it was a hoarse, broken laugh. God, she had even begun to think the same way as him. Jack once told her that she and the doctor were tuned to each other. But that had been the old Doctor, _her_ Doctor. The one with the flappy ears and vaguely receding hairline and wonderfully genuine smile. The one who would go on a date with an alien enemy in a fit of compassion and curiosity, and who would insist that dancing was "his thing" just because he had lived for hundreds of years. Who asked her to live life to the fullest.

This one was pale, and he looked so very exhausted; black lined his eyes and his cheeks looked hollow. The bright shine he once possessed seemed gone. "Are you empty?" she whispered, fingers threading carefully through thee soft mess of brown hair on his scalp, "Is that why you won't wake up? Perhaps there's nothing inside of you?"

She shook her head at her own silliness and laid her hand to rest on his chest, right in the middle where she could feel both of his hearts beating. A steady rhythm pulsated silently beneath her palm. Sometimes it was interrupted by a slight fluttering, and her own heart would leap in her chest, gut turning in worry, until the thumbing became regular again. And she wondered about her anxiousness, the way in which she still cared so much for him, even though he was not the same anymore. His personality had changed, that she was sure of. Perhaps not radically, but still. Something had happened, and now the exclamation "Doctor Who" seemed a little to fitting for her liking.

"God, I miss you so much" she whispered, very softly to hide the way in which her voice was shaking, "Come back to me, yea?"  
She grasped his arm, expression pained, and shook it forcefully. Very lean and fine this one, totally lacking the muscular bone structure his former self had possessed. He was made of twigs in comparison and seemed.. breakable, somehow. A slight fluttering of his lids caught her eye, and a feeling of relief rushed through her – he's waking up? – only to be replaced by bitter disappointment when his breath once again evened out in his slumper. Well, at least he wasn't trashing about in pain like before though Rose was sure that this newfound rest would be short-lived.

But at least for now he was at ease, and Rose thought that he deserved and needed it more than anything, after having been through so much. Problem was that it was only a matter of time before some sort of trouble would find them. They always did where he was concerned, the Doctor. Christmas or no Christmas. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess." She gently ran her fingers across his forehead. The skin was glistening feverishly and wet with a cold sweat. "I'm so sorry." He was burning up from the inside and out, and the only thing she could do was to talk and wait – and none of those did any good, really. "It's my bloody fault, everything. I did this to you, somehow". "How" was painstakingly clear, though. By looking into the Time Vortex she had set something in motion, something _huge_, and though she could not remember exactly what it was she had done, some part of her knew that if she had had the chance, she would do it all over again.

"Do you remember me?" she touched his hand, felt the feathery lightness of it beneath her fingers. This was absolutely bonkers; her sitting and talking to a person she was not sure if she still knew and who had no chance of answering her. But it sort of felt good, voicing her fears.

A soft voice from the doorway interrupted her trail of thoughts, so nice and soothing: "If he does not remember _you_, my Dear, he's not worth getting back and we might as well toss him into the snow"  
Rose chuckled and sent her mother a small but genuine smile, "There's no snow, Mum"  
"Oh, but I wish there was" Jackie said, playing along as she sat down next to her daughter on the duvet. She did not give the doctor a second glance and instead tugged her daughter into her arms, kissing the top of Rose's blonde head, "Snow would make for a wonderful dramatic effect, don't you reckon?"  
"Yea" Rose agreed with a grin, before once again becoming solemn, "_Do_ you think he remember me, Mum?"  
Jackie scowled at the sleeping man for a moment, but then her lips curved into a very soft smile. "I don't think he'll ever forget you, Sweetheart"

And somehow, he didn't.

_Barcelona_


End file.
